Remembering Her Roots
by draggon-flye
Summary: Everyone on his team is his, up to and including the director, and we all know it.


**Warning: Story contains the non-sexual spanking of an adult.** **Read at your own risk.**

**A/N: **This story is part of the same universe as Our Family. It was born from a 'discussion' I had several months ago with Sasha1600 about whether Gibbs would aceept discipline from Jenny and vice versa. We agreed on what Gibbs would do but disagreed on Jenny, and I'm just stubborn enough to try to prove it could be done.

* * *

Gibbs stood in stunned silence, staring in disbelief as Rene Benoit, the arms dealer Le Grenoille, walked out of Director Jenny Shepherd's study, and the director-- who had been ruthlessly chasing the man for months and had nearly killed Tony both physically and emotionally in the process—made no move to stop him. Hell, she had practically ushered him out. For a moment, he was honestly too stunned to speak. When he found his voice, he turned to Jenny and said furiously, "You just let your own personal obsession get in the way of your professional responsibility."

"That's a load of crap, and you know it, Jethro. There are no deals for men like him. You want to chase after him right now and arrest him without a warrant, you go right ahead, but we both know that Kort will have him out before breakfast," Jenny answered, stepping over to the sideboard and pouring herself a drink.

"Then get a damn warrant!" he demanded.

"You get a warrant!" She spat the words at him, but beneath them her voice trembled, and he knew her well enough to hear the tears threatening. That concerned him as much, if not more, than the fact she'd just let that bastard walk out the door. It took a hell of a lot to make Jenny Shepherd cry.

"No," he said firmly, in the same tone of command that let him step into a crime scene and instantly take charge. "It's not him I'm concerned about right now, Jen. It's you. You're out of control. You've let this obsession cloud your judgment."

She snapped up and spun to face him, yanking righteous indignation over herself like an icy shield. "You're a fine one to talk about obsession, Jethro," she said in that cool 'director' voice that never failed to gall him to no end. "Do I need to remind you about Ari, or your three ex-wives?"

He couldn't deny it so he didn't try. "I'm not the Director of NCIS, Jen. My obsessions don't get me targeted by the CIA or damn near get an agent killed."

"DiNozzo knew what he was getting into, Jethro," Jenny said automatically. "We all take those risks. I've done it, and so have you. It's the job."

"A job which apparently doesn't include actually catching the bastard," he countered. "This was never about the job, Jenny. It was about your father."

She narrowed her eyes and glared at him. "You do not want to go there, Jethro," she said so coldly the words practically dripped icicles. "My past is my business, and it's private. I'd think you of all people would respect that."

"I do, Jen, until it interferes with the job." She opened her mouth to speak but he cut her off. "Don't you dare tell me it hasn't interfered with the job. Not when you turned all of NCIS upside down while you went off the damn grid for twenty-one hours."

"What? Now I can't have a private life?"

"Don't."

She shot him a questioning look.

"Don't lie to me, Jen," he said quietly. "We know each other too well and have known each other too long. Do not insult that."

She dropped her head and looked away. Damn Jethro anyway. He always had been able to take her apart with little more than a word and after the horrible lies that bastard had been spouting about her father, she was barely holding on as it was. Just go home, she thought, rubbing a hand across her eyes, trying feebly to stop the massive headache pounding there, let me get drunk and cry in peace. Aloud, she said, "Let it go."

"No." The answer was soft but as inflexible as steel. "This has gone on too long as it is, Jen. It has to stop. You're out of control."

"I most certainly am not."

The denial came quick and hot as a flaring flame, as he had known it would. He stepped forward, into her personal space, deliberately taking advantage of the relationship they both knew existed but neither acknowledged. He reached out and tipped up her chin, looking her directly in the eye. "Yes, you are. You've put yourself in danger more times than I care to think about and you hung Tony out to dry."

"You're not supposed to fall in love with them," she said.

"Yeah, well, you're not supposed to screw your partner either," he said wryly, "but it happened, didn't it? Don't be stupid, Jen. You knew damn well he was getting in over his head, and you sat back and let it happen."

She jerked away, snatching up her glass in one hand and the bottle of Jack Daniels in the other, and stormed over to flop down onto the desk chair. "My responsibility was to the mission," she said, draining her glass and pouring another, "not to Agent DiNozzo's love life."

"Your responsibility is to your people," he said, his voice going loud and stern with the strength of his convictions. "Your responsibility is always to your people. I thought I taught you that. Or have you really changed so much that you don't remember?"

She remembered all right. The memory flooded her mind as clearly as if it had been yesterday. She'd been young and stubborn and nearly gotten herself killed. Gibbs had saved her life and then taken a belt to her ass for doing something so utterly stupid. Afterward, when she was sniffling, miserable and mortified, he'd lifted her head gently, much like he had just moments earlier, and said, "You're a good agent, Jen, but bonehead stunts like that put not only yourself but everyone involved in the op in danger. No matter how important the mission is, your responsibility is to the people. Always."

"I'm not your agent anymore," she said.

"So you keep telling me," he replied. "What you haven't told me is what that has to do with anything."

She let her head fall back against the back of the chair. "Make up your mind. One minute my being director is what makes it matter, and the next my being director has nothing to do with anything. Which is it?"

"Both," Gibbs said, coming over to prop a hip on the corner of her desk.

Jenny laughed, but the sound was brittle and utterly humorless. "How convenient." She drained the second glass and dropped it heavily onto the desk. "Go home, Jethro."

Gibbs continued as though she'd never spoken. "Being director means what you do is felt more than it ever was as a field agent, what you do affects more people and you're responsible to them more than ever, but it doesn't change the rules or make you above reproach."

"What rules?" she questioned. "That quasi-Marine laundry list of yours."

He shot her a look that as a young agent would have sent her scrambling for cover, but now she didn't even blink. "The important ones. The ones you live by, like respecting and protecting your team and never leaving anyone behind."

"Oh, so it's corps, God, and country now is it."

"Don't." Reaching over, he caught her wrist, gripping just hard enough to get her attention.

Jenny jerked her hand away. "Don't what?"

"Don't do this," Gibbs said. "Pretend you don't care, that it doesn't matter, that it's just a job. You're a damn good politician, Jenny, but you don't fool me."

"It is the job," she insisted.

He didn't argue, just leaned over and whispered in her ear, "Your eyebrow's twitching."

She blushed, cursing herself as she felt the redness creeping up her neck and over her face. Even with all her training, she had never been able to stop that. It was the curse of a redhead.

"I saw you," he said, low and serious, "when you knelt in the shell of that burned out car. I've seen that look before."

"What look?" she demanded.

"The look that says a man is dead, and it's your fault for sending him to it," he replied. "I've been in combat, Jen. I've lead men. I know how that feels."

"Agent DiNozzo isn't dead," she said, but in truth she was shocked at the accuracy of his observation. When she stood there this morning, staring at the charred remains of Tony's badge, she'd thought the guilt and grief would consume her. She hadn't acknowledged it. That wasn't a luxury she could afford, but it was there.

"That doesn't make it go away, does it?" he asked. His voice was soft, almost gentle, but it hit her like a bullet. She tried to turn away, but he caught her and held her fast. "Does it?"

"No, dammit, it doesn't," she flared. It had lingered all day, and at his debriefing, when Tony had snapped at her, spewing the hurt and anger she knew she'd caused, she'd thought the guilt would suffocate her. Now, coupled with the rage and, God help her, guilt and betrayal, dredged up by the bastard's accusations, she felt as though she were standing atop a precipice that threatened to swallow her whole.

"I can help you," he told her.

She shot him a disbelieving look. "Unlike Abby, I don't actually believe you have magical powers and can save the world."

He didn't laugh, but the corners of his mouth turned up, decidedly amused. "No magic here," he said, "just plain old-fashioned punishment and absolution."

She shot him a wary look. "What do you mean?"

He arched an eyebrow. "I think you know quite well what I mean by punishment."

Her eyes widened as his meaning dawned, her gaze flicking unconsciously to his belt."Oh, no. Not a chance in hell."

Gibbs shrugged and spread his hands, palms up. "Your choice. I won't force you. I'm not a sadist, Jen. I'm trying to help you." He believed wholeheartedly that she both needed and deserved the physical consequences, but she was far past the point where he could simply impose them on her. The choice had to be hers.

"What makes you think that will help?"

"Because I've been where you are, Jen. I know what it is to bear that responsibility and guilt, and I've learned that sometimes the best way to cut through that and get the release you need is physical pain, and quite frankly, Jen, you screwed up, you let this mission become more important that the people. That alone deserves it."

"You don't get to decide that," she told him. "You're not my boss anymore. I'm yours."

He sighed and stood, moving toward the door, but stopped midway and turned back to her. "Would you or would you not reprimand any other team leader that let an agent get in as deep as you let Tony?"

"I'm not an agent, Jethro."

"You sure about that?" he questioned, "Because you've damned sure been acting like one. Answer the question."

She stood again, too restless to be still. "You know as well as I do that sometimes maintaining deep cover is necessary to the mission."

"I do," he agreed, "but that's not what I asked." He moved closer, deliberately crowding her. "Answer me."

She sighed, cursing Jethro Gibbs for the bastard he was. "Most likely."

"Most likely, hell," he railed. "Anybody else would be damn lucky not to be tossed out on their ass, and you know it. This do as I say not as I do crap doesn't cut it, Jen, and you know that too."

That hit her hard. Her career had been fast-tracked early. She'd come into leadership young and had to fight hard to earn the respect of the people under her command. From the start, she'd made a promise to herself to lead by example. She hadn't gotten to be the only female director in the agency's history without taking a few lumps and giving a few in return, but she'd done her best to abide by that promise. Until now.

The lump of guilt that had been plaguing her all day loomed again, threatening to suffocate her. She bit her lip, wavering.

"Do you trust me, Jen?" he asked.

A ghost of a smile flickered on her face at the memory of a long ago conversation in his basement. "You know I do."

"Then let me handle this."

Her only answer was to toe off her shoes and turn to the desk. He followed, reaching for his belt. Jenny bent over the desk, her stomach knotting with nerves and anticipation. She was under no delusion that this would be some token punishment. It would hurt, a lot, and she knew it. Despite that, there was something oddly comforting in the notion that, for once, the decision didn't fall on her shoulders. She'd made her decision the moment she took the first step. She was as helpless now as she had been as a little girl across her father's knee. Then, the first stroke fell and her world was consumed with fire. She cried out with every stroke, but Gibbs was relentless, bringing the belt down over and over again until all she could do was sob. Finally, when she was sure it would never end, Gibbs stopped and gathered her into his arms, comforting her while she cried.

When she finally settled, he drew her away from his chest and brushed the damp hair from her face. "You ok?"

Jenny nodded, sniffling. "I don't want to sit down any time soon, but I'll live."

"You'd better. Five days of your job was more than enough. Why you gave up the field for that I'll never understand."

Jenny laughed. "And that, Jethro, is one of many reasons you'll never be director."

"Thank god," Gibbs murmured. "But," he went on, "director or not, pull a stunt like this again, and you'll answer to me."

"Got it, Boss," she said quietly, smiling, and gingerly walked him to the door.


End file.
